


and i never wonder why with you

by due_eventide



Category: Monsta X (Band), New York University - Fandom, iKON (Korea Band)
Genre: A simple case of projecting my feelings because I have issues, Also I will only ever refer to Changkyun as Daniel or Danny, Also they smoke weed in this, Coming of Age, Friendship, Gen, I just wanted to write about NYU, I wrote a Very Niche Thing, Is this considered character study?, Late Night Conversations, Mostly Feel-Good Stuff, New York City, No Plot/Plotless, Not sure who this story is for, Only I could be capable of such fuckery, Only superficially about Bobby and Changkyun, Platonic Relationships, Slice of Life, Sort of Word Vomit, The idea of NYU being a fandom is really funny to me, This is just a piece of original fiction, Very Self-Contained, Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:08:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26208451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/due_eventide/pseuds/due_eventide
Summary: Nights stop being lonely when they meet. Basically, two boys self-actualize and then fall in platonic love in the Big City. Or something like that.A love letter to a school that will never love you back.
Relationships: Im Changkyun | I.M & Kim Jiwon | Bobby
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	1. early september

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They become friends first.

There was something comforting about Union Square Park. Despite its raucous nature, the collection of tourists and protesters and students and chess players and the like who cluttered it up, Danny had always felt a particular sort of contentment whenever he walked through the farmers’ market or looked up at the statue of George Washington that guarded the south end.

Union Square was a beautifully constant place — constantly in motion, but never changing. It was the kind of existence that he’d always wished to have.

Sitting on the steps in front of said statue and sharing a joint between a group of half-friends, there was that same feeling of complacency. Something that felt eternal, as permanent as the George Washington towering overhead.

Beautifully constant, reliably familiar, but not quite enough.

Maybe it was just the weed. 

Someone tapped him on the shoulder and he handed the joint over without sparing a glance. 

His dormmates and their friends were immersed in a discussion to which he was only half-attentive. It wasn’t that he was uncomfortable — he liked the guys he was living with, they’d lived together in first year — but he wasn’t particularly close to them and he didn’t know their friends that well, either, aside from their few interactions last year. And so far they were decent company to get high with, but he liked his own thoughts for a conversation partner more, anyway.

“It’s late,” someone said. “The park is probably closing soon.”

“Should we go somewhere else to finish this?” another asked.

“We could just go back to Carlyle,” said one of his suitemates. 

After a collection of murmured agreements, the group got up and walked over to Carlyle Court.

Carlyle Court sat along the west side of Union Square, and was made up of three separate buildings united by a shared name and courtyard. It wasn’t the most elegant of the NYU dorms, but he already liked it more than Founders — where he’d lived the year before — and it was a convenient straight walk to Washington Square.

Danny was the last to tap himself in, pushing past the turnstile in an expectedly ungraceful manner. 

“We should finish the joint out here before we go up,” someone suggested to the group as they entered the Carlyle courtyard.

Danny sighed, exhaustion creeping upon him. “I’m kinda tired. Think I’m just going to head up,” he said. 

“Right, see you upstairs, then,” a suitemate said. “We’ll probably be up in a bit, too.”

He broke away from the group and entered his tower. While he was waiting for the elevator to arrive, he took his glasses off and wiped the frames with his sleeve. Footsteps approached from behind.

“Yo.”

He looked up to see who it was, placing his glasses haphazardly on his face for a clearer view — it was one of his dormmates’ friends, with whom he’d shared a class last semester but who he wasn’t all too familiar with otherwise — and the elevator opened.

“‘Sup?” he said as they both stepped inside the metal death trap.

“I had to pee, so.”

Danny chuckled lightly. “Uh, you’re Bobby, right?” he asked. He hit the button to the 12th floor. 

“Yep. You’re Daniel. We had Intro to Creative Writing together last semester.”

“I remember.”

“That bad, huh?” Bobby laughed. The elevator door slid closed, then the car jolted — in the horrible way that only the Carlyle elevators could — and began to rise.

“Uh, what you wrote was decent,” he responded, a bit dumbly.

“Yeah? I think you had the most brutal notes for me outta that whole class, man.”

“I was like that for everyone’s stuff. But I liked your writing. Your poetry especially.”

They didn’t say anything else as the elevator arrived at the top floor. Bobby stood to the side as Danny fished through his pocket for the key to the apartment-dorm. Even as he pulled the key out and unlocked the door, the two remained in silence.

Bobby entered in first. He bolted in and Danny heard the bathroom door slam and lock before he had fully entered the room himself. 

Danny turned on the kitchen light before moving into the common area and placing his room key on the dining table before taking a seat there as well. He perched himself with his legs also up on the chair, leaned just a touch forward so the chair wouldn’t rock back.

For the thirty or so seconds that he had alone, he scrolled through his phone quietly, checking his emails, then his texts with his parents.

“You just sleep, like, in the open? No door?”

He jumped at the sudden question but composed himself as quickly as possible. “Oh, nah,” he answered coolly.

Bobby stood in the entryway. The Carlyle rooms were mostly set up the same way; there was one bedroom with a door and another bedroom that had simply been converted from a living area, and therefore had no door or privacy. 

“That’s not weird to you?” Bobby asked.

“Not really.” 

“Damn.”

“What about you?”

“Yeah, I got a single in Greenwich. There’s five of us living there, but it’s not too cramped.”

“Sounds nice.”

Bobby peered over at the open-area bedroom. On Danny’s side of the room, the wall was littered with old posters and giant photo prints of the night sky, all framed with string lights. His roommate’s wall was similar, covered in strung-together polaroids and post-it notes and video game posters. Between their two beds lay a large gray shag rug and a handful of pillows.

“I kinda like your setup more, though. Looks cozy.”

“It wasn’t cozy a week ago. Roommate and I spent a whole day getting it like this.”

“Can I?” Bobby asked, gesturing vaguely to the direction of the windows.

“Yeah, but shoes off if you’re gonna step on the rug,” Danny warned him. 

Danny watched Bobby toe off his shoes and bound across the floor. When he made it to the window, he leaned his arms onto the ledge and looked down into the courtyard, awed. 

While Bobby was distracted, Danny reached over to his desk, grabbing the remote for his lights and turning them on.

When the lights blinked on, Bobby jumped in surprise, then let out a dopey “Woah.”

“I just thought it’d look nicer with the lights on,” Danny said. And the room did look nicer — the orangey glow of the lights, while not particularly bright, changed the room to a much warmer, more welcoming place.

“I dig it. And the, uh, floor pillows are a nice touch,” Bobby said.

“Thanks. They were my idea.”

“Oh yeah?”

“I tend to do a lot of work on the ground, so I wanted it to be, like comfortable, or whatever.”

“Smart.”

“Yeah. I guess.”

Then, for approximately ten seconds, Bobby leaned awkwardly against the air conditioner, saying nothing.

“You wanna sit?” Danny finally offered. “The rug or at the table — your pick.”

Bobby broke out into a sheepish grin and walked over to the dining table. He pulled his shoes over, slipping them on with ease and sat down across from Danny, leaning back comfortably in the chair. 

“Fuckton of chairs here,” Bobby noted.

Danny looked up at him, his face deadpan. “They came with the room. I tried to get rid of one, two more showed up to replace it.”

Bobby chuckled. Then, again, they found themselves sitting in silence, unable to find the right way to start a conversation.

“So.”

“So.”

“How was your first week of classes?” Bobby asked.

Danny scoffed. “Really? That’s what you wanna talk about?” 

“I dunno. It’s sort of awkward right now, isn’t it?”

He placed his phone face down. His fingers tapped along the edge of the wooden table while he thought of an answer. “Fine, my day went okay. I like my classes so far, I think,” he said.

“You in a writing class this semester?”

“Yeah. You?”

Bobby hummed. “Yeah, thinking of getting a minor.”

“You should, it’s pretty easy to complete.”

“That’s what you’re doing?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s your major?”

“English.”

“Oh, makes sense then.” 

Danny couldn’t tell if Bobby was being condescending. But he had an inkling that Bobby didn’t have the capacity for condescension in any case.

“Well what about you?” he asked.

“I’m in LS. But I’m thinking of Steinhardt. Music education or something like that. I dunno yet, really.” Bobby rocked his chair forward, and it hit the ground with a solid, unpleasant thud. 

“That’s dope though.” Danny pushed his glasses further up his nose.

“Maybe.”

“Are your parents cool with it?”

“Yup. To them it doesn’t matter what I’m doing, long as I’m happy.”

“Lucky.”

“Your parents aren’t into your major?”

“I’m, like, from a family of scientists. And I started first year on the pre-health track and then last semester…I dunno. I changed my mind.” Danny dropped his feet to the floor, scooting the chair closer to the table.

“You wanted to be a doctor?”

“Yeah. I wanted to be a surgeon, probably. But it turned out that I like writing more, or whatever.” His hand found its way to his phone again, clicking it on and letting the light cut through their conversation, then turning it off again. He repeated this action a few more times, never actually looking at what was on the screen.

“You’re a really great writer, though,” Bobby said, and Danny couldn’t help the smirk that grew on his face.

“Well I was really good at science stuff, too. So my parents were sort of upset by it. But it’s not like the end of the world. They say it's fine, now, so. And they’re still paying tuition.”

“At least they love you enough to keep paying, huh?”

“So loving me is worth, like, $80,000 a year.”

“Eighty grand is a lot of love, man.” 

“I guess so.” Then a beat before he decided to veer their conversation somewhere else. “Hey, I didn’t know you knew my suitemates.”

“I mean, only kinda? Most of my friends don’t really smoke. But one of my suitemates does, and he’s the one that’s friends with those guys, so I’m here tonight.”

“Huh.” 

“I thought you were part of that crew.”

“Nah. We lived together last year and we vibed, so we decided to stick together this year too. The two in the bedroom are tight, but the two of us out here have our own things going on.” 

“Your roommate wasn’t with us earlier, right?”

“Yeah,” Danny said. “He’s a Sternie. So.”

“Ah. So you don’t hang with anyone else usually?”

“Tonight was an exception. It’s the beginning of the semester. The guys needed weed, so I thought why not?” 

“Wow, a lone wolf, eh?”

“Yeah. You might say I’m not like other girls.” 

“Man, fuck off,” Bobby laughed. “But that was your weed?”

“I mean, technically, but I’m not emotionally attached to it or anything, and the guys paid me back for it already.” 

“Generous.”

“It’s just weed.”

“It’s good weed, though.”

“I’m glad that grimy white boy didn’t rip me off, then.”

Bobby snorted.

“But I thought they’d be back up by now,” Danny said, looking over to the door and wondering what his suitemates and their friends were doing. He assumed they were still in the courtyard, but he thought the spliff would have run out already.

“Who cares. It hasn't been that long,” Bobby said.

Danny sighed, then pushed his chair back and stretched his arms out. “Hey,” he said suddenly, “I want fries.”

“Okay?”

“D’you wanna come with me to McDonald’s?” he asked.

“I thought you were tired?”

“Well now I’m hungry.”

Bobby nodded and stood up. “‘Aight then.”

So they left the room, returned to the elevator, and rode back down to the ground floor. As they trotted back through the courtyard, they passed his suitemates and their friends, who were all indeed still talking. 

“Where y’all going?” one of the group shouted over to the pair.

“Getting food,” Bobby shouted back. He yanked the door of the main tower open, letting Danny through first.

Once they exited the front door of Carlyle, they walked to the left, crossed the street and made their way to the McDonald’s of Manhattan’s Union Square.

Upon entering Danny put his order for a large fries into one of the machines, then thwacked Bobby on the arm.

“D’you want anything? I can pay,” Danny offered.

“You don’t have to,” Bobby said, but he was already punching in a 20-piece nugget.

“It’s fine,” Danny said.

When they were done ordering and paying, they found an empty booth to sit at and wait for their food. Even at this hour of the night, the establishment was busy, a swarm of people gathered at the counter, waiting for their food to arrive. 

“You're from Boston, yeah?” Bobby asked.

“Yeah. But I spent a lot of time, like, abroad, because of my parents’ jobs.”

“Hm, no biggie. I’m from Fairfax, which is Virginia. Just Virginia. And you’re Korean, too, right?”

“Uh, yeah, but I’m not, like, great at — I understand Korean but I’m not very good at speaking.”

“I get that.” 

From the counter, someone shouted the order number for their food, and Bobby got up to get it. 

Danny sighed, then readjusted his glasses. His earlier fatigue had mostly dissipated, and despite the stilted way he and Bobby had been exchanging their words, he had felt like something was pressing against his chest. It was neither familiar or unfamiliar, both light and heavy. Like a growing sense of security. 

Bobby returned with a brown paper bag, which he dropped onto the table. He slid back into his seat across from Danny, who reached into the bag and pulled out the fries, box of chicken nuggets, and a handful of ketchup packets.

Bobby pulled the box of nuggets closer to himself and opened the lid. He immediately took a nugget and popped the whole thing into his mouth. As he chewed, he gestured to the ketchup packs, and Danny understood, picking a packet up, tearing it open, and squeezing it into the lid. The rest of the ketchup quickly followed suit, a sizable lump ready to be used for the consumption of Danny’s fries.

Bobby dipped a nugget into the ketchup, and Danny looked at him suspiciously. 

“It’s good,” Bobby claimed, but Danny shook his head and popped a few fries in his mouth.

In the bright lighting, Danny took the opportunity to look at Bobby, who was concentrating deeply on his chicken nuggets. There wasn’t anything that particularly stood out; he was a decent looking guy in an oversized hoodie and shaggy dark hair. His demeanor was confident, and he seemed always to be relaxed and friendly, though his eyes had a certain severity to them. 

“Dude,” Danny began, unable to hold back his words, “your eyes are like…slits.”

Bobby smiled wide, his eyes crinkling even smaller but losing their sharpness in the process. “Wow, I didn’t know you were a racist, Danny,” he said, his mouth full of chicken nugget. The teasing tone of Bobby’s voice made Danny break into a grin.

“Oh, fuck off.”

The two of them laughed together. 

“And not to make this weird,” Danny said, emboldened, “but you’ve got a really nice smile.”

“Yeah? You do too, Danny.” Bobby took one of the fries and dipped it in ketchup. Danny did the same.

They ate and laughed and ate, and although initially it had felt strange and stilted when they couldn’t figure out what to say to the other, now the silence had become its own kind of exchange.

Eventually, “You’re a really dope guy, man,” Bobby said.

“Thanks.”

“I’m serious. I like your vibe.”

“Yeah?”

“And you got good weed.”

“Thanks.” 

“We should hang out again sometime,” Bobby said.

“Yeah? Just to smoke?” Danny passed the phone back.

“I, well, also just to hang out. I could use a new friend.”

“I guess I could do with any friend at all.”

“Well, you got one.”

Danny smiled shyly. It was odd how comforting it felt, how easily Bobby had just decided they were friends. He wondered how genuine Bobby’s offer of companionship was — it wasn’t often that people truly followed up on these kinds of things, especially not Danny. 

But Danny genuinely liked Bobby so far, and Bobby didn’t seem like a disingenuous person, and somehow Danny knew that he had, in fact, made his first friend at NYU — finally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This...I don't know why I did this. Not sure where it'll go if it does go somewhere. I can't believe this is the first thing I'm posting on this site. I am so sorry. Or you're welcome, depending on whether you liked this.
> 
> Is anyone going to read this? Like, it's not my best anything, especially not this first chapter, which has sort of bad pacing, but hopefully, someone out there finds this worthwhile. 
> 
> Also, if anyone is reading this, please drop a comment. It doesn't even need to be about the story, though it would be appreciated if it were.


	2. late september

Before Bobby arrived, he texted Danny, asking if there was anything that he wanted from Kent’s. 

Kent’s Dumpling House, formerly known as Vanessa’s, was a restaurant situated on 14th Street, with relatively cheap and yet delicious Chinese food. While the name obviously indicated that they place sold dumplings, Kent’s also provided a variety of other small eats, such as noodles or egg waffles and even boba teas. 

Danny responded with an order for pork dumplings and a sesame pancake. 

The sun was setting, so Danny turned on all the lights he could — the kitchen light, his desk light, and string lights — in an attempt to keep the room from total darkness.

While he waited for Bobby to arrive, he diligently began to roll a joint at his desk. 

He and Bobby had met up a few times since the first night just over two weeks ago. They’d smoked, mostly, but they had also gotten lunch together and walked around the East Village the weekend before. Danny had come to learn a lot about Bobby, and he’d found that the two of them had, actually, quite a lot in common.

It was in a way supernatural, how quickly they’d become a part of one another’s lives. Danny was never one to make friends quickly, and he was slow to open up to people, but with Bobby, things seemed to be easier. 

But he hadn’t met any of Bobby’s other friends yet, though he’d heard a decent amount about them. In any case, he liked it when it was just the two of them; the idea of meeting Bobby’s friends was still quite daunting. Bobby didn’t seem to mind. 

There was a knock on the door. Danny shot up, his tongue still to the rolling paper, and he stumbled to the door while attempting to seal the joint. 

He triumphantly held the completed joint between his fingers as he turned the knob. The door swung open with full force. Bobby stood in the doorway, holding a bag of Kent’s, ready for consumption.

Bobby laid their food out on the carpet while Danny pried his window open as far as it could go. He placed the joint between his lips and lit it, inhaling slowly, then blowing the smoke out the window. Bobby got up and stood behind him.

“Just, like, out the window?” Bobby asked, peering over his shoulder.

“Yeah.”

“Won’t someone see that?”

“It’s the top floor. Nobody’s going to see.” He leaned against the sill, the joint held just outside so the smoke wouldn’t invade the room.

“That’s pretty smart.”

“Thanks. Do you want to listen to music?” Danny asked. 

“Uh, sure.” 

“Uh, do you have any requests?”

“You pick tonight. What do you usually listen to, anyway?”

Bobby had been the main music-chooser on the few nights they’d had so far where they wanted to listen to music and chill. Bobby’s choices consisted mostly of a significant amount of 90s hip-hop, though on the more quiet nights he would choose more R&B-oriented playlists.

“Depends.”

“Okay. Then surprise me.”

Danny handed the joint to Bobby and sat on the floor. For a few seconds, he looked through the various playlists on his phone, searching for something that would suit the mood. Eventually, he settled on one of his personal weed playlists for the nights he would get high alone.

As the music started Danny turned the volume up. Then he chucked his phone onto his bed.

The music began to filter through the room, and Bobby silently processed what was playing before he asked, “Is this…Jaden Smith?” 

“Uh-huh.”

“Wow.”

“He’s not bad, I swear,” Danny said. “I like listening to his music when I’m high.”

“Why’s that?”

“It’s easy, I guess. And it makes me think.”

“Why? ‘Cuz you get to know what’s in his brain when he tweets shit like, about how mirrors aren’t real?” Bobby asked, no malice evident in his tone.

“I mean, kinda? He’s an interesting guy. His music is, too. Makes me think of, like, an alternate reality, maybe. That’s why it’s in the alternate reality playlist.”

“Alternate reality?”

“Yeah.”

“Music from an alternate reality, then?”

“Sort of. Or something that could be from one, I guess. Or another planet. I dunno. It’s, like, simple, but still weird. Like it’s almost right, there’s just something ever so off about it,” Danny rambled. “Or it’s like, everything is just the way it should be but there’s something wrong with you.”

“Does that matter?”

“Depends on what reality you’re in.”

“You like that kind of stuff — parallel universes or whatever?”

“I just like to keep my third eye open.”

Bobby chuckled. “Do you?”

“Only when I get high, really. Which I’m not, yet, but, like, I like to be prepared for that, y’know.” 

“Hmm.” Bobby continued to smoke, blowing out into the air outside.

The next song started playing, moving on to another song that reminded Danny of something wonderfully alien. He flicked his lighter on as he waited for Bobby to finish, watching the flame burn small yet steady, mesmerizing.

Danny had next to sense of time when he got high, though that was already something he didn’t have while sober. 

He could briefly make sense of a conversation about how their days had gone — Bobby had almost been hit by a car while skateboarding somewhere near Astor, or something like that, and he’d taken a nap at some point which resulted in his arrival to a lecture 15 minutes before its end. 

On the shag rug there sat an open and empty cardboard box between the two of them. At some point in their reverie, they managed to order a dozen cookies from Insomnia. The cookies were gone almost as soon as they had arrived, and the tang of the sugar remained in his mouth, but Danny could not recall eating a single one. 

They sat silently, each lost in his own thoughts as the effects of their highs slowly started to dwindle. 

It had come to the point where Danny was certain that they were both perfectly sober, but they had decided simply not to speak for however long they had been lazing around. 

Bobby was lying on the carpet, a pillow hugged to his chest, while Danny sat cross-legged beside him, picking at the carpet. Passively, Danny scratched the side of his nose. 

“Why do you paint your nails?” Bobby asked, lifting a hand to point at Danny’s. His voice was gravelly, low, more so than it usually was. 

“Hmm?” He looked down at his hands, where his fingers were painted a solid coat of black, then continued, “Oh. I don’t know, I just like having them painted. Doesn’t hurt that it also hides the dirt under my nails.”

“Huh.”

Emboldened, he asked, “Want me to paint your nails, too?”

Bobby was quiet for a few seconds as he contemplated. “Sure, why not?” he decided.

Danny rose to his feet and made his way over to his desk, where a collection of a couple of bottles of nail polish sat in a drawer along with a collection of unused notebooks.

“Any color you want?” 

“I don’t know. Black is fine.”

Danny picked up a bottle of black polish and top coat, “We can match, then.”

He sat back down on the carpet, where Bobby had already hoisted himself upright, the pillow now sitting on his lap. He put the bottle of top coat aside and rolled the black nail polish vigorously between his hands before unscrewing it. He placed the opened bottle in the empty cookie box, to protect the rug in case the polish spilled over. 

He held his hand out, and Bobby placed his own on it. With his brows furrowed, Danny carefully began to paint Bobby’s nails. 

He scrunched his eyes together as he tried to focus, to keep himself steady. His bearings were still off-kilter, though the high had long since worn off.

Bobby’s hand rested on Danny’s knee, but Danny held up his fingers as he painted them by propping them up delicately with his non-dominant hand. He wasn’t used to painting another person’s nails, so his technique was awkward and his wrist was bending oddly to accommodate it.

“This feels kind of awkward,” Bobby said.

“D’you think I could paint your nails without touching your hands?”

“I mean—”

“It’s only awkward because you’re making it awkward,” said Danny, smirking. His concentration didn’t break from Bobby’s fingertips.

One the second layer of black was painted on, Danny screwed the bottle shut, then picked up the bottle of clear coat to top off his handiwork.

“This is a lot more work than I thought it would be,” Bobby mumbled.

“Yeah, I guess so. It’s harder to do in the dark. While I’m still sorta high.” He pulled Bobby’s hand closer, his grip tightening on his fingers.

“I like this,” Bobby said, pointing at the small tattoo on Danny’s wrist with his free hand.

Danny paused, processing the compliment. “Thanks.”

“What’s it mean?”

“Uh, I mean, I guess it’s just to remind me. That I’m okay. Even when I’m not. Or I will be. Something like that.” 

“Huh. I like that.”

“You would,” Danny said, smiling, and he returned to his task.

“It’s like your alternate reality thing.”

“It really isn’t.”

“It could be. I think it is.”

Danny finished the last finger finally. He returned the two polish bottles to their homes in his drawer. Instead of returning to the carpet, Danny climbed over to his bed. He sat cross-legged with his back leaned against the wall, and he looked down at Bobby, who was staring at his fresh-painted fingernails.

“Uh, how long does it take to dry?” Bobby asked.

“It should be fine already. The top coat helps it dry faster,” Danny answered. 

“That’s kinda advanced.” Bobby checked the time on his phone, then laid down on the rug. “Don’t you have class tomorrow?”

“Yeah. I have a recitation at 8.”

“They take attendance?”

“Yeah, but don’t worry. I wake up early.”

“You sure about that? It’s like one-something right now.” 

“Has it really been that long?” Danny asked. He grabbed his phone and turned it on to affirm, and it was indeed getting to be reasonably late.

“It sure has. Shouldn’t you be, like, sleeping?”

“Yeah, it’s fine. I’m, like, gremlin-y. I tend to sleep late and always wake up really early anyway. I’ll probably go to bed in like an hour. Maybe.” 

“Alright, then. Explains why you’re always so tired,” Bobby teased.

“I never said it was a good habit.”

“Yeah,” said Bobby. “It’s pretty ‘gremlin-y.’ Also, where did your roommate go?”

“Dunno, maybe a friend’s, his girlfriend’s? He said he wouldn’t be back until tomorrow night.”

“He does this a lot, it feels like.”

“I’m used to it. He did it a lot last year, too.” There was a break in the conversation — which Danny took to reach over and plug his phone into a charger — before he continued, “Don’t you have classes tomorrow?”

“No classes. But I have a study group thing in Bobst at like noon, which shouldn’t be difficult to get to.” Bobby yawned, punctuating his sentence.

“Are you gonna sleep on my floor?” Danny asked.

“Yeah, I might, it’s fucking comfortable here.” “Well, feel free to stay as long as you want,” he said.

“Just wake me up when you do, no biggie.” 

“I literally just said you could stay as long as you want.”

Bobby turned onto his side, propped up on his elbow, to look straight at Danny. “And I said I’ll get up when you do.”

Danny let out a long, amused sigh. “Okay, then,” he said. 

“Next time I’ll bring edibles, it could be more fun,” Bobby said. 

Danny raised his eyebrows. “Will it?”

“They’ll take you to that alternate reality you’re always yearning for.”

“Yearn?” Danny repeated, affronted.

Bobby laughed. “Yeah, you yearn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pacing? I don’t know her. Consistency? I also don’t know her.
> 
> I don’t know how to write. I can’t believe that I’m getting a creative writing minor. Who allowed this? Why am I asking? Who's even reading this?


	3. mid-october

They were sitting on the Kimmel steps, doing mostly nothing. This was something they’d become accustomed to doing together — sitting and doing mostly nothing.

Bobby was situated one step above Danny, who was leaned against the wall and underneath the arm railing. Two near-empty cups of iced coffee sat on the steps with them, as well as two denim jackets laid one atop the other. Bobby was on his phone texting his friends while Danny had his laptop balanced atop his knees. 

Initially they had met up to grab lunch and study, since they’d both finished their classes for the day, and they’d planned to go Halloween costume-hunting together later in the afternoon as well.

But Bobby was not a person who was particularly invested in schoolwork and so he’d quickly given up on the text he’d been assigned for CFIII. Instead he waited as Danny immersed himself in his Texts & Ideas reading.

For a while they’d been sitting in this silence; every so often one would cough or clear his throat, and occasionally Danny would vigorously type something down, only occasionally pausing to check his phone. 

The majority of the noise came from the others on the steps; other students who were also hanging about in Kimmel, or going up and down the steps to get to and from their next destinations, or members of campus organizations trying to hand out fliers or pamphlets. It was altogether typical, nothing extraordinary.

Bobby and Danny both were listening to music, though not together. Danny’s AirPods were connected to his own laptop and Bobby’s earbuds were connected to his phone. Their legs touched just barely but other than their proximity there was not much to indicate that they were doing anything together. 

One of Bobby’s friends sent a text into their friend group chat, inviting them to a party the coming weekend at a co-worker’s apartment in Alphabet City, celebrating the end of midterms. He responded with an  _ idk, maybe _ , and left it at that.

“Hey, are you going home for Thanksgiving?” Danny asked, suddenly.

Bobby jumped, then pulled an earbud out. 

“Huh? Uh, I dunno yet, really.” 

“Okay.”

Then they returned to their silence. 

Oftentimes their conversations were just like that. Someone — Danny, usually — would simply ask a question, and the other would give a short answer, and then no follow-up. It was easier that way, and it had stopped being awkward very early on in the formation of their dynamic. 

Danny was good at talking and yet at the same time he wasn’t — there were days he was more talkative than others. He often awkward, even when at the times where that he was talkative — which was what accounted for the frequently short conversations that they had. He was a pensive kind of person, but didn’t like to elaborate too much if he didn’t have to. He was almost enigmatic in that way. 

Sometimes Bobby wondered how Danny’s brain worked; he was obviously smart and he was quiet and private, and therefore he was quite different from Bobby. But they got along well and they seemed to agree on most things, they had similar interests — Danny seemed just as carefree as Bobby, and yet he was so much more reserved.

Perhaps it was what made them get along so well. 

But it’s not like mattered all too much; Bobby usually didn’t dwell too much on these kinds of things. He thought Danny was cool, and that was all there was to it.

Bobby paused his music and pulled his earbuds out. “Dan,” he asked, “you had a writing workshop yesterday, right?”

“Uh, yeah.” Danny looked up, adjusted his glasses.

“You didn’t talk about it, you didn’t tell me how it went and I wanted to know.” 

“Uh, yeah, because it sucked, sort of,” he said, almost absentmindedly. He leaned his head back, knocking it lightly against the wall.

“Whaddya mean? I mean, your writing is pretty good, I thought?” Bobby said.

“Hmm. People said they liked it but they were just…they had a lot to say. My professor called it, like, experimental.”

“Experimental can be good.”

“Yeah, I guess. But I don’t know what the fuck that means. And I don’t really care, I just write whatever I want and they can fuck off about that. I just don’t think I got any good advice, though, so I just don’t really know what to do about it.” He rested his hand at the top edge of his laptop.

“Huh.”

“It was also, like, 18 pages long,” Danny laughed. “So I guess it’s not really their fault that they hated reading through it. I would just skim through something like that, too.”

“I mean, that’s fair.”

“You’re in Intermediate Poetry, I feel like that’s way less, like, judge-y when it comes to editing. Or workshopping. I don’t know what you guys do.”

“It’s kind of the same, but I think it is more…nice. I dunno. But usually there’s not 18 pages worth of poetry being submitted to us.”

“Maybe I should’ve just done poetry.”

“Dude,” Bobby laughed. “I thought you hated poetry.”

“I don’t like writing or workshopping poetry. It’s uncomfortable.”

“Then you deal with them hating whatever alien invasion story you wrote.”

“It’s about ghosts.”

“I know,” Bobby said.

Naturally, their conversation lulled again. Bobby returned to his phone and Danny finished up on his reading and the accompanying assignment.

“Hey,” Danny said. 

“Hm?”

“Are you done with your work?” he asked. 

“I’ve been done for the past 45 minutes, dude. You finally done with your reading?”

“Yeah.” He closed his laptop and shoved it into his backpack.

Danny stood, slipping his arms into the sleeves of his denim jacket. 

Bobby grabbed his jacket and his backpack as he stood. He threw them both over his shoulder before picking up Danny’s bag over as well. He held it out as Danny finished adjusting his clothes. 

“Thanks,” Danny said.

“Uh-huh.”

After leaving Kimmel, the two made their way down Broadway, toward their destination which stood at a seven-minute-or-so walk away from Washington Square.

During the operating hours of Halloween Adventure, two human-sized Chipmunks were almost always stood outside the door of the Broadway entrance — a Simon and Theodore both worn down by time and chained to the store, one never without the other. Never, in either Bobby or Danny’s experience, had an Alvin made an appearance either inside or outside the shop. Nevertheless, Simon and Theodore were a delight without a ringleader, and a comforting force for those who passed by them day by day.

Bobby and Danny walked up to the wonderful Chipmunks that guarded the entrance to Halloween Adventure. Danny patted Theodore on the head as they passed through the threshold into the dark and cluttered Halloween store, to begin what Danny had earlier coined an “inspiration hunt” for the impending night of spooks. 

Danny and his dormmates had, as they did the year before, planned to hang out on Halloween together. This plan consisted of dressing up and going to Shades of Green for drinks, then to either Joe’s or Bagel Boss, then returning to their dorm to watch movies and smoke. This plan, of course, was immaculate in all ways, and was dorm-only, meaning only the four Carlyle boys were allowed on this most wonderful excursion.

“It’s a dorm-bonding event,” Danny had called it. 

As for Bobby, he had nothing planned for Halloween itself, but the weekend was to be the host of a plethora of parties, and he and some friends had planned to go to one hosted by a classmate from his high school that he was still on good terms with. 

Bobby had invited Danny to tag along, but he’d declined, saying “I dunno, I don’t really like to go to parties.” 

And so there they were, sorting through the chaos of the poorly-lit and incredibly crowded Halloween shop, searching through rows of kids’ costumes and silly props and gag gifts and a wall of masks in an almost clinical fashion — at least as clinically as the could with hordes of people passing by and knocking into them.

“What if I was just a racist stereotype of myself for Halloween?” Danny asked, clearly joking. They were looking at a wall of ridiculous racist-caricature costumes, and he gestured toward an image of a white guy in a Fu Manchu and ethnic robe.

Bobby laughed, grabbing at the costume package. “I guess that’s allowed but it’s not really Halloween-y, I think.”

“Who are you to dictate what is and isn’t qualified as ‘Halloween-y?’”

“Fair point, my dude.”

“Do you have any ideas yet?”

“Still nope.”

“Hmm.”

“It’ll probably be a while before I come up with anything, but there’s still two weeks or so, right?”

“Yeah, and I guess you don’t need to dress up. If you don’t want to. Or if you can’t think of something, anyway.”

“But it’d be fun, though. Which is the point of it.”

“You could buy, like a half mask,” Danny said, gesturing toward the wall of masks, “be the Phantom of the Opera; it’s easy and generic.”

“I dunno; I don’t think that’s my vibe.”

“A mask would hide your stupid ugly face, though.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Bobby laughed.

They continued to look through the shop until they’d covered just about the entirety of the ground level of the shop.

“We should go downstairs,” Bobby said, already heading to the staircase. Truly, the costume selection on the lower level was much superior; it was also where all the sexy knock-off costumes and a magic supply shop resided.

The two managed two squeeze their way through the mess of people and down the stairs. Upon arrival they began looking through the costumes in very much the same fashion as they had on the ground floor, scanning through one section before moving onto the next.

They stumbled through discounted sexy costume-lingerie and generic, gaudy accessories, and found fursuits, too, buried beneath layers of other costumes. Every little find stranger than the last, a twisted and wonderful little rabbit hole.

They spent upward of an hour inside that little shop and they ended up walking out without having spent any money. Even more, Bobby left without any plan for a costume, but he was the kind of person that might end up picking his costume the day of, anyway. 

They had a fair amount of time before either had to be anywhere else, so they headed to Union Square to talk and smoke for a bit. They found an empty bench to sit, and Danny quickly procured an earlier-prepared joint for the two of them to share.

“I think I wanna be a cowboy,” Danny said, flicking his lighter on.

“A cowboy?”

“Mhm,” he said, blunt in mouth. He exhaled and continued, “I think it’s fun. It could be fun. Whatever. I like cowboys, is all. And I already have a hat.” 

He took another drag as Bobby laughed.

“You should do it, then. D’you have chaps?”

Danny scoffed, blowing a puff of smoke out with the breath. “Why would I? I was just going to wear jeans. Or something stupid and fun, like, with fishnet tights or something.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, it’s not chaps but I think it’s a fair enough replacement. And I don’t have cowboy boots. But I have other boots that’ll probably work.”

“So like some sort of pop-punk cowboy.”

“Yeah, why not.” Danny chuckled. “I think that suits me a lot.”

“Sounds sexy,” Bobby said as Danny handed over the joint.

“That’s the plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t remember what it’s like to hang out with friends anymore. I miss Simon and Theodore so much, I hope they are well.
> 
> Why am I still doing this, how do I end a scene, help me.


	4. early november

St. Marks. A most wonderful realm in which one might find themselves searching for some cheap food, or drunkenly getting tattooed or pierced late at night. 

However, Bobby and Danny were very quite sober as they headed down St. Marks on this fine 8:45 p.m. 

Their plan was simple, a decision made spur-of-the-moment — Danny had always wanted to get more piercings than just the standard lobes he’d gotten in high school, and when he brought it up earlier with Bobby the decision to go to St. Marks came without a doubt.

Beforehand, they’d deliberated on the kind of thing to get since Danny didn’t yet have an idea for exactly what he’d get. Danny had thought perhaps he’d want a septum ring, as it’d be easy to hide from his parents.

“I’ve wanted to get an eyebrow piercing, maybe,” Bobby had said. 

“Then you should do it,” Danny had replied. “Maybe I’ll do the same.”

And then to St. Marks they went, and at St. Marks they currently were. It was already fairly dark outside but the street was lit by the many shops and restaurants that lined the street, casting a haze into the night air.

They arrived at the tattoo shop. Displayed clearly through the front window, a girl sat leaned back while the piercer stuck a needle through the side of her nose. 

When they entered the shop, they could see someone getting tattooed in the back of the store. An older Asian woman stood behind the counter, a glass case that displayed a plethora of different body jewelry.

“What are you here for?” the woman asked them, smiling a sweet, prune-y smile.

“Uh, I wanted to get eyebrow piercing,” Danny said, fumbling awkwardly.

“Oh!” she exclaimed excitedly, and she turned behind her to pull out a pile of paperwork. She handed Danny a piece of paper and a pen. “Sign here.”

As he quickly scanned through the paper and signed it the woman pulled out a calculator and punched in a few numbers.

“Just one piercing for you, yes?”

“Uh, yeah.”

Danny handed over his credit card to the woman. She swiped his card, and she returned it with a receipt for him to sign as well. When he finished, he looked up and saw the woman standing in front of him, holding a small lollipop, which she unwrapped promptly.

“You’re going to need this,” she said. She shoved the lollipop into his mouth, and quickly she ushered Danny to the front of the shop, where the piercer was waiting for him. Danny sat down in the chair and watched as the piercer cleaned his needles.

The guy was the same piercer who’d done the girl’s nose when they walked in. He was larger than Danny, dressed in all black and with long, greasy black hair, which was slicked back and held by a bandana. His arms were covered in tattoos and his face in multiple piercings.

“Eyebrow piercing?” the guy asked.

“Yup,” said Danny, pointing at the side he’d wanted it done on.

From behind him Bobby, who’d finished paying, walked up to spectate. “D’you need to hold my hand?” Bobby asked, smiling.

“Shut up,” Danny said as the piercer pinched his eyebrow between two fat fingers.

Bobby offered his hand out anyway, and Danny still took it.

The piercings were done with fast. Danny hadn’t flinched when it was done; neither had he bled too profusely. Bobby’d had a bit more of a reaction to the pain but nevertheless the two boys made their merry way out of the tattoo shop with brand-new matching eyebrow piercings.

“We should get food or something. As, like, a reward,” Danny said. 

They ended up getting boba from one of the many places located nearby.

As they were waiting for their orders in the overly-lit tea shop, Bobby got a closer look at Danny’s new piercing.

“It really suits you, man,” he said. He held a wrapped thick straw in his hand, twirling it around like a drumstick.

“It suits you too,” Danny said, pointing to Bobby’s face. 

“Nah, but your whole emo-boy vibe, it’s like, full circle or something.”

“What’s that even mean?”

“Just...it’s real edgy, dude.”

“I don’t think I’m that edgy.”

The barista called for Danny’s drink, then in quick succession Bobby’s was called as well. They grabbed their beverages and stabbed their straws through the lids and all but charged to the door.

Bobby’s drink was already half-done when they stepped out into the Manhattan night.  The November air was crisp, chilly, and it was around the time of year that people decided they needed huge coats and gloves and boots to brave the weather. But while it was colder out, and it was nighttime, it still wasn’t that cold — both Bobby and Danny were getting away with just hoodies, and on Danny his denim jacket.

It was a comfortable temperature, keeping their energy chipper, and the streets were nice to walk around at this hour. Every time the wind blew at them Danny was more aware of the cold piece of metal now attached to his face.

They were talking as they walked through Astor, and they ended up on the topic of their writing workshops, as they often did. They talked a lot about writing in general, because it seemed like the only good advice Danny ever got was from Bobby himself.

“Yeah, it’s super chill the whole time usually,” Bobby said about his poetry workshop.

“That’s lame. I just get shit advice on things that don’t make sense.” Danny sighed and sipped his drink. He was waking his time, more than Bobby whose boba was pretty much gone.

“You just gotta get through it, I guess.”

“Right. But I’m gonna be annoyed until December,” he said.

“And probably for future classes, right?”

“Probably.” 

“I mean, you can’t really get away from pretentious assholes like that.”

Danny rolled his eyes, thinking about the nightmare of NYU students who thought too elaborately about themselves and the world. He paused. “Hey. Am I a pretentious asshole?”

Bobby laughed. “Maybe. But who the fuck cares. You’re not worse than anyone else, I think.”

“Hm. True,” Danny murmured.

Bobby let out a loud exhale. “So,” he said, “are you going home for Thanksgiving?”

“Uh, yeah. I am,” Danny answered. “My brother’s also going home, so my parents thought it’d be nice if we were all together.”

“Huh, sounds like it’ll be fun.”

“What about you? Did you ever figure it out?”

“Uh yeah,” Bobby said, his voice light and gravelly all at once. He swirled his empty boba cup in his hand. “At first I didn’t know because it’s kind of expensive, but I’m gonna be back in Virginia for, like, two days.”

“Cool.”

“Yeah. And my other friends and I were thinking of, like, a Friendsgiving the weekend before? Since people’ll be all over the place then.” 

“Oh.”

“Dude,” said Bobby, “you should come to our Friendsgiving.”

“I don’t—”

“You can meet my other friends, and it’ll be super chill. You said you wanted to meet my friends eventually, right?” 

“Yeah, I did,” Danny said. A gust of sharp, cool wind hit him square in the face. He pulled his hoodie over his head and drew the strings tight.

“It’s not gonna be that many guys; I really only have a couple of really good friends,” Bobby added.

“I mean, yeah, I’m super down for it,” Danny said. 

“Awesome, man, it’s gonna be really cool.”

Danny smiled, then nearly gagged on a stray tapioca pearl.

“Is Shake Shack still open?” Bobby asked.

Danny recovered quickly. “I think it closes at 10? But you really want to get a shake?”

“I was just asking.”

Danny hummed.

They squeezed around a large group of people crowded in front of them. Astor Place was always a rather busy place, and tonight was not an exception.

There seemed to be an abundance of tourists on this particular night, though, and although it was rather dark out it was still bustling with people, students and tourists and New Yorkers alike.

“Where's the trash can?” Bobby asked. “I feel like I’ve been holding this cup for forever.”

“I’m done with my drink, too,” said Danny.

“Really? You left a lot of boba at the bottom, dude.”

“Yeah,” he said, giving the cup a little jostle and letting the tiny black beads bounce around. “If there’s not, like, any liquid left, then the drink is over, y’know. The boba by itself is kinda gross.”

“Ah.” Bobby nodded. Then he chuckled and said, “Y’know, you’re a pretty terrible talker, man.”.

“I’m aware. Oh well.”

Bobby laughed harder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t remember what it’s like to be on St. Marks anymore. Or Astor.  
> Why was this so short. Who the fuck would care.


End file.
